


Something to Lose

by AllOPsMustSuffer



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad Cliche Bingo, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllOPsMustSuffer/pseuds/AllOPsMustSuffer
Summary: It’s better to have loved and to have lost, or so they keep telling Peter. He knows people who say crap like that haven’t lost everything- they still have something to lose. Someone to love.Peter doesn’t. He has no one.Not even himself anymore.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	1. Leave a Message

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so, this is kinda heavy Doc. If you have triggers with drugs and drinking, maybe don't read this fic. Just a warning. But if you're here to watch the precious father son duo crack under the weight of this too cruel world (that we have so gloriously created) then bear with me. Angst ahead.

Peter was always bombarded by texts from May during school- she wasn’t really one for ‘cellular device restrictions’, which she referred to as ‘important communication restrictions’.  
  
Evidently, important communication to May meant:  
  
 **7:53 a.m** Peter was the bus on time today? There was a big crash on 7th and some guy was waving a sign and blocking traffic!! :/  
  
 **8:37** **a.m.** Ok so, I just checked Fox News (sorry I know its all the gas station had!!) and the guys sign said ‘HOT THAI’?? Thinking Thai for dinner TBH!!  
 **  
** **10:24 a.m.** Hot Thai guy confirmed owns new Thai place on 7th and is selling it cheap as promo tonight get ready for some pho boi!!

**1:21** **p.m.** sorry was the ‘boi’ too much?  
 **1:21** **p.m.** how’s ‘homie’  
 **1:21 p.m.** my dope bro!!  
 **1:22 p.m.** sonny?  
 **1:22 p.m.** slick?  
  
 **1:23 p.m.** May I’m in chemistry  
  
 **1:23 p.m.** ok slicckkkk I’ll get you spicy pho for lata 😜  
  
Peter laughed. He swore only moms used that emoji. After chem, he walked to the subway with Ned and, engrossed in their discussion of the possible impact of Doctor Who’s time lord powers on the Star Trek universe, missed his stop.  
  
 **2:45 p.m.** May cool if I hang w Ned and come home later  
  
May didn’t answer, but Peter knew she’d probably started her shift. She worked late nights on Thursdays. He also knew she wouldn’t mind if he wasn’t home.  
  
 **2:52 p.m.** ok Ned’s mom said I can come over so I’m going to I hope u don’t mind and also I’ll eat the pho later promise thnk u  
  
 **9:34** **p.m.** hey May sorry I lost track of time but I’m heading home now I will see u in morning I know u work late sorry!  
  
Peter got home.  
  
 **10:27 p.m.** May? You left your scrubs here. Did u finally find the blue ones that got lost  
  
 **10:38 p.m.** I thought u had a break at 10:30

**10:39 p.m.** everything ok  
  
 **10:54** **p.m.** ok I’m going to sleep but I’ll tlk to u later just txt me  
  
 **6:32 a.m.** May did they give you a double?  
 **6:32 a.m.** that’s a shitty thing to do  
 **6:33 a.m.** sorry sorry I mean crappy  
 **6:34** **a.m.** should I drop off some breakfast for you before school I can take the subway past the clinic  
  
 **6:46 a.m.** May?  
  
 _*Calling Aunt May*_  
  
 _This is an automated message from 542-663-0212: HI!! It’s May Parker just leave me the deets and I’ll ketcha later!_

_ *After the tone, please record your message. When you are finished recording, hang up or press one for more options* _

_ BEEEEP. _

“Hi May it’s Peter just wondering what’s up and also letting you know I got home fine and I’m going to school I think maybe my texts aren’t sending and I found the bagels in the fridge thank u bye!”  
  
 **12:48 p.m.** Is your double finally over? Thank god am I rite??  
  
 **12:55 p.m.** Hi Mr Stark?  
 **1:03 p.m.** It’s Happy wdy need  
 **1:03** **p.m.** I can’t find my aunt?  
 **1:04 p.m.**?  
  
“May I’m home!”  
  
“May?”  
  
“MAY!”  


She wasn’t in the apartment. 

Peter searched around desperately for a note— A note. It was on the coffee table. Just there. Kind of like she wasn’t.

Peter almost tripped over himself getting to it. He nearly crumpled it in anger and shock when he realized it wasn’t her handwriting.    
  
_ If you come, she can go. 1514 Kaylee Ave Staten Island NY _   


Peter had one thought _ : Fuck.  _ And then he had another.   
  
_ *calling Stark* _   
  
“What’s up kid? Trip over a chimney? Step on a-”   
  
His words came out fast. “Mr Stark I need help.”   
  
Tony’s tone changed immediately, and though Peter couldn’t see it, his knuckles went white with his grip on the wrench he was holding. “Where are you?”   
  
He choked. “She’s gone.”

Peter couldn’t hold back the sobs. “They took her Mr. Stark I don’t know where she’s gone and there’s a note but I don’t know what to do and I know it’s my fault and-”   
  
The wrench dropped, forgotten. “On way.”   
  
_ *call ended* _

* * *

When Tony arrived, the apartment was empty.

“Peter? Pete, kid, you here?” It was no use. The kid was gone. Tony spotted a note on the kitchen table, and groaned out loud. “Fucking hell.”

_ I’m sorry Tony, I had to go look. I need to find her. I’m sorry. _

Tony ran a hand down his face. What was he supposed to do? In all likelihood, Peter could probably handle the situation. Tony smiled at the thought— he was a tough kid. The kidnappers wouldn't stand a chance.

Then he noticed a second slip of paper, this one crumpled. And his heart stopped.

_ If you come, she can go. _

The rest of the message was torn off, but Tony didn’t need to see it to know what it said. He recognized the handwriting. It would have been an address, and he knew exactly where.

He was gone in seconds.

* * *

Spiderman landed silently on the roof of the apartment building, though hardly anything could have been heard over the noise of the street below. The note hadn’t given him the apt. Number, but he had a feeling he knew where it was.

Half this building was silent, save for a corner room on the far end. And he could smell something in the air. Something that wasn’t safe.

Climbing down the outside, Peter approached the window of the corner apartment, but didn’t look in. He listened, waiting for anything to tell him more about what was going on inside.

But the talking had stopped.

Peter was frustrated. They had May. They had his family.

So he broke the fuck in.

  
  



	2. Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May is dead, Peter feels dead, and Tony wishes he was dead. Yeah, well, it's Tuesday.

Tony was not prepared for this. It was a Tuesday, for fucks sake.

The apartment building was gone, leveled to a blackened stain on the street. The buildings beside it had collapsed, and windows across the street we’re blown out. Glass shards and chunks of concrete littered the area. It was not something that left survivors, and Tony felt a chill run through him. And then he saw Peter.

Lying prone on the far side of the damage was a red and blue figure. Tony wasted no time.

“Peter?! Shit, kid, are you ok?” He almost tried to shake Peter awake before he came to his senses and started taking action. “Friday, vitals now. Prep med bay, and get me a goddamn suit here for Pete.”

_Peter is alive, heart rate 45 beats per minute, abrasions on his front and lower half from sudden exposure to fire. Minor impalement by several forms of debris. Immediate care recommended._

Tony sighed and lowered his head. The kid would be fine. He’d probably heal up alright on his own— not that Tony was letting him out of his sight for the next day at least.

And there was an injury that Friday couldn't measure. Tony was sure that Peter just lost May. There was no way to ease that pain.

He couldn’t wait for the suit. Gathering the unconscious hero in his arms, Tony shot off toward home. Peter didn’t need to wake up to the carnage he left behind.

* * *

When Peter woke up in the morning, the first thing he thought was _fuck, its way too bright out for 7 am. I’m definitely late to school._ And then he recognizes the fluorescent lights and too-white interior of the Tower’s med bay, and he— he— can’t breathe “Hel-help— I can’t—”

Tony was beside him in an instant. “Peter, Pete! Listen to me kid.” _Not helping Tony. You_ _can’t quell a panic attack when you sound like you’re about to have one yourself_. “Peter. Breathe with me. You’re okay. You’re safe. Just breathe. In— and out. Good. Just breathe.” He thanked the gods his voice didn’t crack in that moment.

Peter lied back against the stacked pillows, eyes searching the ceiling for some kind of explanation. He just noticed that the panels were not evenly placed, they were at an angle, for some reason— 

“Peter, can you hear me ok? It’s Tony.”

Peter turned his head to look at his mentor. Immediately noticing the concern on Tony’s face, Peter put on a reassuring smile and reached for his hand. “Hey, Mr. Stark, hey I’m alright.” Holding up both hands in an innocent gesture, he continued, “See? Just fine. Not dead. Not— "

Dead? _Wait. Wait a second_. “Tony.” What was wrong with his voice? This didn’t sound like Peter. He wasn’t sure what was happening. “What happened? Did someone die? Tony, I’ve got a bad feeling.” The tears brimming in Tony’s eyes and the pain written across his tired features spoke volumes to Peter. His fears were not unfounded. “Um, Tony?”

“Pete— Peter.” Tony coughed and cleared his throat. “I don't— it’s May.” His eyes met Peters. And terror gripped the boy’s heart. He knew that look. He’d gotten it three times before. “May— M— ma— that’s, no.” He shook his head, trying to wake up from the nightmare. But it just kept going. “That’s my _mom,_ Tony. She can’t— they can’t—” The world was falling away. Maybe it was a dream.

“Peter, May died last night.”

And that was it. Peter was done. He could give up now. There’s was no point, no _fucking point._ “Peter?” But his head had fallen into his hands somehow. He could hear Stark, even though he was very far away. Everything was so far away.

The Emptiness spoke. “Look, kid. I’m going to be here, and you can just call me when you need. Whatever you need, just— just call me. Get some rest, I guess.” Running a sweaty hand through his hair, Tony exited the room, knowing that it was probably worse for Peter with him in there. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to go more than ten feet beyond the door.

Peter couldn’t sleep. He laid there, and he died slowly, until the afterlife looked the same as the world he had come from.

* * *

It took several hours and a disabling need for caffeine to get Tony off the floor outside Peter’s room. Brewing a stronger pot of coffee than FRIDAY ever would, and adding a (un)healthy amount of Irish to it, Tony took a long draft of his lifeblood of choice. It almost came up the moment it got down, but putting a hand on his mouth and holding the fridge handle to steady himself, Tony managed to hold back the fiery liquid.

He sat down again, this time on the kitchen floor. And he did the thing he absolutely hated doing, because it always made things worse and he could almost always find someone else to do it for him: Tony thought about his problems. What happened, where he was now, and how to fix that.

 _What had happened?_ Tony wasn’t completely sure. The note in May’s apartment, he would have bet his fortune on, had been written by Agent Ross. That man was far too sly and sickening for Tony’s comfort, especially when it came to Peter— the poor kid who had managed to avoid signing his life away on the Accords. Tony had known that Ross would do something like this eventually, but he had never imagined that he would do, well. That.

And while Tony wanted to feel angry, wanted to take his suit and show Ross exactly what happens when you mess with _his kid_ , he continued to sit there, confused. Ross was a sly, cocky bastard. He wouldn’t kill Peter’s aunt— he would use her. Peter was a gullible kid, and Ross wouldn’t even need any real way of killing May to convince Peter that he might. It wouldn’t make sense to have explosives— a very real opportunity to kill her— if that wasn’t what he intended. Mistakes happen, and Ross wouldn’t take a risk like that.

Which made Tony think it wasn’t Ross. His handwriting, hell, his kind of sick plot- but not him. Someone had it out for Peter that night, to hurt him without bargaining for anything in return. From the looks of it, they may have lost their own life in the explosion. It was a fluke, a desperate act. Tony knew better than anyone that _shit happens_ , but this was some kind of shit. _May never had a chance._

And that’s where he was. May was dead. Peter was crushed. And whoever did it was beyond Tony, maybe beyond life. But that wasn’t really what mattered, because Tony wasn’t in the business of chasing down villains with nothing to lose. He had bigger problems.

Like what to do with Peter.

With no family left, and three years before he was determined to be fit to survive the dangerous NYC streets by the all-knowing powers that be, Peter was on a fast track to the foster system. Tony knew he couldn’t let that happen— but how? He could support the kid, let him keep the apartment and continue to live like he had, on Tony’s dollar. But child services wouldn’t just look at financial stability. They would expect Peter to be living with an adult, and they would expect a safe and loving home. Generally, they would expect that Peter’s primary provider would also be his roommate, so to speak. And the solution came to Tony much faster and easier than he wished it had.

_Peter could live with me._

And then Tony was laughing, hysterical from the stress of the situation and the perfect but oh-so-not-perfect solution. _Live with me? Hell, I can barely live with me. Pepper can’t live with me. Rhodey can’t live with me. And now this poor kid has been damned stuck with me? I can’t take care of him. I can’t take care of myself._

_What a joke._

Tony bit his lip, and grimaced. It was shitty, really, really shitty, but he didn’t see another way. Peter’s friends could hardly take him in— no one in Queens was that well off. Tony could manage it. He would have to try.

“Boss, Peter is awake. Would you like me to alert him that you are on your way?”

Well, maybe he could try in a few minutes. “Uh— no, FRIDAY. Just let him know I’m in the kitchen, and he can come down if he wants something to eat.” Tony got the eggs out to make omelettes, hoping the kid would be willing to eat something after everything that had happened.

“Boss, Peter is on his way.”

 _Oh great. Really looking forward to this._ Tony reached for a pan, slapping it on the stove and turning on the burner. Peter’s footsteps came into the room, and Tony heard the barstool drag against the floor. He turned around to face his Bane of the Day- and at this point, that was really saying something.

“Uh, hey, kid.”

Peter didn’t speak, but nodded with his head down.

Tony smelled the pan getting hot with nothing in it, and quickly spread some butter to smooth things over. “You, uh, up for some eggs, kiddo? I’m making omelettes.”

Again, Peter just nodded.

The first egg cracked, “Listen, kid—” and then the second, “what happened is, well, it’s hard to believe.” Tony reached for another pair. The shells hit the rim of the pan. “I was thinking about everything while you were asleep and,” The eggs are sizzling. Tony realizes he completely forgot to mix them into omelettes. _Fried eggs it is._ “Well I think it would be best if you stayed here, for a while.” The smell of cooking yolks began to fill the room. It was a little nauseating.

“No.” Tony abandoned the eggs and faced Peter. “Listen, kid—”

“No.” Peter raised his head, making eye contact with Tony. It was a look full of anguish, but it was determined. “I want to go home, Mr. Stark.”

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. He took another large gulp of the Irish coffee, and it gave him a little confidence. “Kid, the thing is, you can’t stay there anymore.”

Peter’s hand moved faster than Tony could, grabbing his collar and pulling him halfway over the bartop. Tony’s repulsor was released from his watch almost the same moment Peter grabbed him, and he raised it to the boy’s face. _What was happening?_ Peter’s words came seething out. “I. Am. Going. Home.”

“No, you’re not.” Peter let go, and sat back on the stool, never breaking eye contact. And then he was gone, as if into thin air, and Tony’s window was left hanging open. The rest of the Irish coffee was downed in seconds, and Tony smashed the empty pot against the sink. “ _Fuck._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're going to break something, break it in the sink. It's easier for everyone.


	3. The afterlife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter doesn't see the point in living if he's already dead. Tony doesn't need a corpse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide trigger warning.

Peter spent an entire day on the floor of his bedroom before Tony got his shit together enough to go and get him. It didn’t feel like a day to Peter. He was sure that time stopped passing after you died.

At first, Peter refused to let Tony in. Not actively— he just didn’t get up to open the door. After waiting ten minutes, Tony just broke the lock. _Kid won’t be needing it, anyway._

Tony wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but for some reason the state of the apartment shocked him. It looked fine. Lived in, but well loved and regularly cleaned. As if a family still lived there. Peter’s door was half-open, and he could see the kids feet sideways on the floor from where he was standing. He approached the body.

Lying on his side, with his face angled toward the floor, Peter looked like he had just come home from one hell of a day at school and missed the mattress on his one-way trip to nap city. Tony knelt beside him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Peter. It’s Wednesday.”

Peter showed no sign of response. Tony continued. “Look kid, I know this is hard, but you’ve got to get up. You need some food, maybe a shower. You’ll feel better— I promise.” Tony wasn’t at all sure that he would feel better. In fact, in his own personal experience with loss, he’d probably feel worse. Nonetheless— “Pete. Come on. Let me give you a hand.”

Putting his arms under Peter’s, Tony lifted Peter to a sitting position. Luckily the kid still had enough self-preservation to keep himself upright without Tony’s support. Standing, Tony reached out a hand, an invitation to rejoin the world of the living. Peter took it, but his eyes stayed dead.

Hands on Peter's shoulders, Tony searched for _anything_ in the kids eyes. Hope, maybe? He found none. He sighed, and dropped his hands to his sides. “Let’s go to the tower, yeah, Pete? I’ve got chinese on it’s way there and anything else you might need. Let’s just— let’s get there, ok?”

Peter’s gaze remained trained on an invisible point, so Tony simply led him out of the apartment and made a mental note to have someone come back and collect his things. The car ride was silent and stupidly long, and Tony was begging in his head for it all to be _over_ just as fast as it had begun.

It didn’t turn out that way. When they reached the tower, Peter disappeared into the guest quarters he’d sometimes use on late lab nights, like grief on autopilot. Tony, for his part, collapsed on the couch. He really, really needed a drink.

That night, Tony made mac n’ cheese. Peter came down to eat, knowing that if he didn’t, Tony would come into his room and bother him about it. Not that he cared anymore, but he knew Tony did. So he saved him the trouble.

Tony looked a little more alive than Peter, but they both felt dead. They ate in silence, and Tony downed the tawny contents of a tall glass before he had taken three bites of his meal. Peter knew what that meant— he had seen his mentor drink like he was trying to drown before. Tony was feeling overwhelmed. _It’s because I’m here._

Standing and taking his plate to the sink, Peter began to wash the dishes, like he always had for May. He watched the water as it ran over the leftover stains, turning yellow and disappearing down the drain. He breathed deep, and set the plate and pan in the dishwasher.

“Kid, I’m going to take you in.”

Peter remained facing the tile backsplash of the sink, turning a fork over and over in his hands as he listened to Tony say words that tasted like ash in his mouth. “I know that’s really hard to hear, but the thing is, I can’t stand to think of you in the system and the freaking government won’t let you stay alone at the apartment, so, well I know it’s not perfect but kid, I think I’m all you’ve got.”

Tony was right, of course. There weren't many options, and this was by far the least difficult, for Peter, at least. But despite how much Peter wanted to stop caring about others, to stop leaving himself vulnerable to loss when they inevitably fell out of his life, he already cared about Tony. A lot. And he couldn’t do this to Tony, not for long.

“Okay.” It would do. For now.

“Hey, hey! That’s great kid, uh—” Peter could hear the bottle losing more of its contents. “Happy to have you. I know this is hard- dammit,” He’d spilled the liquor. “But really, it’s going to be fine. I’ll get my lawyers on it, or whatever. Don’t worry about anything. Just take it easy. We’re going to be fine.”

Peter nodded, disappearing down the hall and into his guest room. Tony ran his fingers through his hair, again, forgetting the booze that was still on them. It slicked his hair back. He had a kid now, _I guess. How am I supposed to deal with that?_ Tony could feel the panic creeping up his throat, but he pushed it down with a swill from the bottle. They were going to be fine. _Just fine._

After two days of staring at the slanted panels on the ceiling, Peter realized they were that way because the tower was a circle. It made sense. And when he couldn’t wonder by looking at them anymore, he went to go look at something else. Putting on his suit and opening a window, Peter went out to find another mindless mystery.

He didn’t have to go far. From his view at the top of a 40 story corporate complex, Peter could stare at the cars making their way through a five point intersection. They moved seamlessly, making way for one another, bikers and people walking by. It was fluid, and so complicated. Red, green, yellow. An arm straight out, a turn signal. A wave and footsteps picking up their pace. 10, 5, 2, 1 and a red hand. People stopped, cars went. Someone honked for no apparent reason other than to save time. Which was so futile.

Peter felt a strange weakness throughout his whole body, spreading while he watched. His limbs hung uselessly, and he just wanted to lay down. He considered falling forward, but he wasn’t ready for that. _Not yet._

In front of him, a wide expanse stretched out and below. The city rushed by in the streets, so very far away. It was beautiful, bright, and distracting. He knew he could sit on the ledge and watch for hours. Knowing, though, that he would, made Peter all the more convinced that it was better to get up now. The scene wouldn’t change, whether he was watching or not.

 _How poetic,_ he thought, _that Spiderman would fall to his death._

Peter didn’t look up to see the stars that shone brightly through the cloudy New York sky. He didn’t see the crescent moon, or the planes adding red to the white and black of space. Peter looked down at the world he lived in, and fell into it.

Tony had been looking up the whole time. And when Peter dropped from the ledge like a stone into water, he stole the child from death in mid air. A scream and the sound of metal striking metal and rubber sliding against pavement shocked the world below from it’s rhythm. Peter saw it all from his angle, straight down. A crash— a small fire. Collective panic.

The scene had changed. He’d almost missed it. _If I had fallen in, that would have changed it, too._

Peter felt his face turn toward the glittering night sky, and his back touched the cool rooftop. He could hear a voice in the distance. “-id! Kid! Jesus, Peter, _what the fuck?!_ Why would you do that? You didn’t have your web shooters, on, kid. Peter!” A hand stole his gaze from the sky and he was looking into Tony’s eyes. “You could have died.”

Pulling him into a hug, Tony had to count slowly in his head. _Remember to breathe._ “Never do that again, Peter. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

Peter began to feel something other than empty. Against his will, his emotions came seeping back, and his next breath was heavy. He felt rain on his face, but the sky was still clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, well. Shit happens.


	4. Consider it Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out Tony isn't as good of a roommate as he thought.

Tony did not handle family well. After a long day, or several all strung together, the only thing keeping Tony’s heart warm was his arc reactor and a bottle of jack.  _ Well, _ he thought,  _ that’s not entirely true. _ Sometimes he mixed the jack with coffee. 

This is to say that Tony was not equipped to deal with a very depressed, overpowered teenage mutant ninja something-or-other trying to end his warped, god-awful, universe stricken existence.

Trying to end his life.

When Tony thought about this, and he thought about how he didn’t know how to help Peter, he felt hopeless. And angry. So he threw in some Patron with the coffee and jack.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs coming down from the penthouse, and Tony glanced wildly at his watch. He didn’t really have to— Peter rarely came out of his room these days. It was 7:12. Time to get to school.

Peter strode somberly up to the counter and passed Tony without so much as a nod or a curt ‘morning’. Suddenly that anger flared up again, and the Patron on his shoulder did the talking. “Oi, kid. ‘Ello to you too. Miss me on your way to the— what is that crap? Granola?” Tony’s hand reached out and snatched the cardboard box from Peter. The movement felt so much faster than he intended. But he continued with the facade. He was in control. He was fine.

Tony squinted at the colorful lettering on the box. “Gra, graaay— Grape! Grape, nuts? What the hell is Grape Nuts? You bringing the South Bitch Diet into my home, son?”

Peter visibly bristled. “Don’t. Call me son. Some of us like to eat well in the morning, you know. Most important meal of the day and all.” He snatched the box back and poured a bowl. He mumbled another salty complaint. “Wouldn’t kill you to eat a kind of grape other than fermented.”

Tony’s hands flew up, spilling some of his ‘special’ coffee. “Woah, woah woah woah! Don’t push it, kid. You commenting on my morning routine? I’ll have you know this is a cup of coffee, plenty average for the average joe.” Tony took an exaggerated gulp of the black liquid, and involuntarily coughed.

Peter scoffed, a disgusted look on his face. “Like hell it is. I can smell at least three different kinds of liquor in there, Stark. And you,” he jabbed a finger into Tony’s chest.  _ Bold _ . “Reek of it. Take a goddamn shower.”

“Hey— language!” Tony tried to say it firmly, but it came out slurred. This kid was really starting to get on his nerves.

The fire disappeared from Peter’s eyes, replaced with the earlier apathy. He wasn’t dead anymore, but Tony made him wish he was sometimes. His hand fell back to his side. “Whatever, Tony. I’m late.” Tony stepped to the side as Peter walked past, obviously with no intent to go around him. He watched the kid go, and couldn't help but feel a little disappointed in himself. But mostly, he was peeved.

As he twisted to add a bit more coffee to his death brew, Tony noticed the bowl of Grape Nuts abandoned on the counter. Reaching tentatively in, he nibbled one of the oddly shaped pebbles. “Ah— uck! Oh, jes—  _ my god! _ What the hell is this?” The pebble had contained some kind of acidic, mockingly sweet chalk. “Healthy? I’d die first.”  _ Of course—  _ this was the jack thinking—  _ at this rate, you actually might. _

The truth was, Tony had not been well since he took Peter in. The past couple of weeks and worn down on him like years. He wasn’t sure how to have a kid around, and to make it worse, he didn’t even get to try. Peter didn’t seem to be giving him any opportunity, keeping to himself and barely talking about anything, let alone the traumatic events of the last 14 days.

Walking toward the lab, Tony paused and caught a whiff of his stained tank. “Shit— that’s almost as bad as the nuts. Squirts right, I oughtta take a shower.” The stairs toward the penthouse swirled and felt much longer than a couple flights. _ And maybe a quick nap. Gotta rest the ole peepers. _

As soon as the sweaty mess of a mechanic hit the sheets, he was out. Peter was long gone the next morning when Tony woke up and finally took that shower.

Peter was in the lab when Tony finally made it down there, his only priority after staving off death-by-bodily-neglect another day. He stalled at the door, and sighed before going in. Tony just wanted to be alone while his sanity lasted.

Not bothering to look up from his project., Peter waved a greeting at Stark. “I can’t smell you from here, so I’m gonna assume you took that shower.”

“Yeah, yeah. Glad you’re satisfied, kid. Hate to bother the wonder-child.”

“Excuse me?” It wasn’t malicious, but Peter’s voice sounded testy.

Tony rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, sorry. I’m cranky. Didn’t expect you here is all.”

“Oh. That’s fine—”  _ Jeez.  _ Tony thought.  _ This kid really have the nerve to act innocent? Wait, what am I saying? We always work togeth—  _ “I’ll just be upstairs.” Peter got up to leave.

The tone was unmistakable. Tony couldn’t just let him go like that— it wouldn’t be worth the trouble in the end. “No— no, stay, kid. It’s fine. It’s fine. FRIDAY, put on another pot for me, would you? And what, a glass of milk for you kiddo?”

Peter remained standing, hand reaching for his notebook. “Stop that.”

Tony raised his eyebrow. Nevermind his guilt— the frustration was back. “My charisma doesn't have a cancel button, sonny. Something up?”

“Stop calling me a kid. I’m not a kid.” Peter shook his head to clear it. “I’m not  _ your _ kid.”

“Oh, really?” Tony scoffed. “As far as I can tell, you’re under  _ my roof _ , you live on  _ my bill _ , and I deal with  _ your shit _ . Sounds like you're my problem, k i d.”

Tony would not have been able to dodge the flying screwdriver if Peter had aimed to hit. “What the  _ hell _ ? Chill out!, kid”

_ “Stop it!” _ Peter’s seething was audible from across the lab. “Is that what I am to you? Just another problem? Another line on your to do list?” He threw up his hands, letting out an exasperated puff. The finger was aimed at Tony, again. “Well I got news for you, old man. You never get anything done, anyway. You’re a crazy drunk. I don’t want your money, and you certainly can’t help me. You can’t even help yourself. I’m— I’m—” Peter grabbed his bag and stormed toward the door. “I'm out. Consider it done.”

The door slammed. And Tony was left alone.

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, boss?”

“Add some gin to that brew, would ya? Pops needs a little cheer this morning.”

“Boss, it is 4:47 pm.”

“Yeah, well it's five o’clock somewhere.”

“That is incorrect. It is 47 minutes past the hour in any given time zone.”

“God dammit!” Tony slammed his fist on the table. “FRIDAY, make me some fucking coffee and a drink, now. Several.” He ran the hand down his face, a bruise already forming.  _ I’m so tired. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I like Irondad as much as the next well adjusted young woman. It’s just good to remember that being a dad is not necessarily Tony’s strong suit. His suit is. I mean, it’s made of iron.


	5. Time Travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Order up! Eight pages of sad! Angsty teen for eight pages of sad, anyone?

Peter left that night after his fight with Tony. Tony didn’t notice, of course. Even after Peter’s suicide attempt, he had forgotten to program FRIDAY to keep tabs on Peter. He had gone to the airport, and done that crazy thing they always did in movies. At this point, he could do with some romantic comedy in his life.

The plane landed roughly, a fitting end to the turbulent ride. Peter groaned, thankful that the long hours in the too small chair were finally over. He really needed to stretch his legs, get back into the swing of things.  _ Haha.  _ He chuckled to himself.  _ Swing. _

“Welcome to Queens. On behalf of Australian Airlines, we thank you for flying with us!”

Slinging—  _ hehe, also funny—  _ his bag over his shoulder, Peter shuffled off the plane among the other weary travelers, into the dry heat of the Australian outback. After reaching the airport doors from the runway, Peter pulled off to the side and snagged a map of the area from an information desk.

Everywhere was unfamiliar. Hell, he had no clue where to go, especially without any money. “Let’s see then… hotels, resorts, no, no no and definitely  _ not—  _ oh. A, hostel? Isn’t that just like a cheap hotel?”  _ Yeah, I’ll go there. Maybe they’ve got a closet I can sleep in.  _ Passing strangers shot him concerned looks. Had he said that out loud?  _ I have really gotta stop talking to myself. _

Malrose Hostel was a dump. There was really no kinder way to put it. Most of the cars out front, if they could be called that, looked like they’d been salvaged from a wreck. Two windows were broken, that he could see. It was hardly earning of the name ‘accommodations’. Peter shrugged.  _ Perfect. I’ll fit right in. _

The ‘concierge’ was a waifish, sunburned blonde bearing a look of disinterest. But at Peter’s approach, she perked up. “Hey hey, champ. What's a nice place like you doin in a kid like this?”

Peter shot her a harmless glare. “Not a kid.”

“Really? Fooled me.” She leaned over the desk. Peter glanced to the side, doing his best to avoid eye contact with what her blouse exposed. “You need a room, kid?”

Peter was blushing, but spoke up. “Um, yeah. You have anything for cheap?”  _ I’m in for it now. _

The lady raised a perfectly arched brow. “How cheap?”

“Yeah, how cheap? I— I’ve never stayed in a hostel before. Um,” Peter fished out his wallet from his bag, and pulled out the few bills he had stuffed in there. “I got this much? I’m sorry, I didn’t really expect to be here.”

She hummed with suspicion,“That’s hard to believe. You did walk in the door.” Taking the bills nonetheless, she folded and slipped them into her pocket. “I’m afraid that won’t get you anything.”

“What?” Peter yelped, a little higher than he meant to. “But you just took my money!”

“Yeah, those were American bills, wise guy. We got a different currency here.” Peter’s mouth gaped, and he resisted the urge to slap himself. The lady smiled and waved her hand dismissively. “But you’re cute, so I’ll tell you what: let’s cut a deal. You need a pad, and I need a hand. My right one just quit on me this morning. Work here while you stay here, and I’ll throw in meals and a sunhat till you get enough saved.”

Peter was understandably taken aback. “A…. what? I mean, yeah! That— that’d be great.”  _ Geez, it’s like my first day with Stark. Get it together, Pete.  _ “When can I start?”

“Start now, unless you want to be out with the snakes tonight.” She disappeared behind the bar. Peter’s sense tingled, his hand flying up to catch the hat in its attempt to connect with his face. She smiled again. “Nice moves, kid. Put that on. You’ll need it.” Gliding out from behind the long desk, she gestured for Peter to take her place and walked toward the door.

Peter was astonished.  _ Just like that?  _ He needed some directions, or something. “Hey, lady!”

She kept walking, but called back, “Just start by standing there and refusing customers. We’ve already got a full house tonight.” Her hand was on the door, and she flung it open.

“Ma’am, I was just wondering what to call you!”

“Got it right the first time. I’m going to get some lunch— I’ll see you later.”

_ The first time?  _ Peter thought. And then, “Oh!”

* * *

The first night in new Queens, Peter didn’t sleep. It was hot, he was hungry, and there was the constant stress of having left behind his entire life and responsibilities back in Queens— the old one. Somehow even this amount of distance from his problems didn’t take away the weight of it all. It’s as if he could feel the people of New York watching, waiting for Spiderman to come back home. It was also obscenely quiet, and Peter wasn’t used to the nighttime silence.

The second night, sleep still evaded Peter. It might have been the seven cups of coffee Lady had given him to get through the day, given his insomnia the night before, but at this point, Peter really didn’t care. He just wanted some fucking peace. The kind that comes when your brain shuts the fuck up.

Needless to say, that didn’t happen. Just his Parker luck.

When Peter hit the dismal mattress on the floor for the third time, he was desperate.  _ Please god, if you give a damn about the well being of any of your miserable creations, please just let me sleep. I don’t care if it's permanent. I want to wake up from a coma and be forty. Just let me sleee—  _ “Hey! Give that back, Aaron! Come on maaannn—” and then another voice, “You’ve had plenty, Aerie. I’ll remind you who rolled this joint.”

While Peter appreciated the noise, he was delirious and angry at anyone disturbing his potential for an undisturbed rest. Leaping off the floor and opening his window wide enough to slip through, he verbally assaulted the offenders. “Oi!  _ You mind? _ Or am I bothering you with my peaceful sleeping?” Not his best lines. But he was tired.

The pair looked shocked at his sudden appearance, but the boy recovered quickly. Clearly the contrarian. “No, no, you weren’t bothering us. But I gotta say, man, it doesn’t look like you’re all that good at sleeping.”

The girl’s look softened out of pity at his remark, and she waved Peter over. “Hey, man, you wanna join us? Sorry about Aaron. We are kinda loud.” She waved a smoke in the air. “But we can make it up to you!”

Aaron snatched the joint back from her. “When’d you get that? Sneaky woman. You seem eager to give away what's not yours.”

She slapped him on the shoulder. “I bought the last batch, you bastard. I say we share with the poor guy.” Looking back at Peter, she spoke up. “I’m Aerie. Look, just come sit with us, will you?”

Peter wasn’t really sure what to do in this situation, but at the pace his brain cells were working, the option of saying no didn’t really cross his mind. At this point, he just wanted an excuse to not try and sleep again.

Aerie handed him the smoke—  _ when had she gotten it? _ — and held out a light. Peter had seen this in movies, and he did his best. After she pulled the lighter away, Peter put the joint to his lips and sucked in.

The burning that he experienced was so sudden and so  _ hot  _ that he practically spit the joint out. After what felt like an eternity of coughing, and when he was certain he’d lost at least one and a half lungs, Peter came back to the land of the living. 

Aerie was waving something in front of his face. “-ater! Hey, man! Drink this! It’ll help. Jeez, you never had a smoke before?” Peter grabbed the bottle being handed to him and gulped greedily. Then all the sudden the burning was back, deeper than before. He could practically feel liquid fire as it scorched his esophagus. Coughing again, he shoved the bottle back into the girl’s hands and continued coughing. Her shrill voice broke through.

“What the hell?!” Sniffing the bottle and taking a swig herself, she turned on Aaron. “Hey! You said this was the one with water in it!”

“Oh piss off. He’ll be fine. It’ll help him sleep.”

“Really, Aaron? Whiskey? He’s obvi never smoked before. I don’t know that we should be getting him crossed on his first go.”

“Chill out! Like I said, it’ll help him sleep. And we do it all the time. It won’t hurt him.”

She rolled her eyes and checked on Peter. “Hey, you okay? Sorry about that. Here’s some water.” Peter drank with despereation. It was an instant relief. “You uh, you good?”

Swaying a bit and finding a seat on one of the logs around the campfire, Peter focused on a point in the distance. His head swam, but he had to admit, the harshness of the experience had knocked him out of his sour funk.

“I, uh, yeah. I’m good. Um, what, what was all that?” He ran a hand through his hair, a bit sweaty. “I’m gonna be fine, right?”

The boy across the fire looked at him straight and smirked. “You might feel a little funny in a bit, but give it an hour and you’ll be out like a light.” His hand made a saluting motion. “Glad to be of service, oh fellow tortured soul.”

Peter looked questioningly at the pair, and wove his fingers together in his lap. He was nervous, but less so than before. “I’m, um, I’m Peter.”

Aaron looked up. “That’s nice.”

Peter’s expression changed to one of disdain. “Normally you’d greet me back.” Then holding out his hand, he said “But you’re Aaron, right?”

“Yeah, guess Aerie let that slip. Look, you’re probs not gonna remember this anyway, but we hang out here when Lady’s out. She knows, probably, and doesn’t seem to mind us. I know you’ve been working for her, and we’re gonna stick around whether you like it or not. But like I said, you’ll be out soon anyway.”

Peter didn’t care for Aaron. But he wasn’t in the mood to snitch. At the very least, he could get a good distraction out of these two. “Actually, I feel fine.”

“What?”

“I don’t feel anything.”

Aaron scoffed. “Bull. Stand on one leg for five seconds.”

“Easy.” Grinning, Peter realized impressing them, and hopefully making a couple of lucrative friends, wasn’t going to be difficult.

“Then do it!”

Peter was having fun with this. “Bet you ten I can do a flip.”

Aaron backed off. “Woah there man, don’t let the weed get you cocky.”

“Twenty.”

“Fine. You’re on.”

Naturally, Peter executed a flawless backflip. The look of surprise on Aaron’s face was priceless. “Woah! Man! You a gymnast or something? Yeah I’ll give you twenty for that. But you’re on for the next round of joints, bro.”

Peter smiled. He could do that.

Peter did finally sleep that night, but he never got high from the booze and weed. Tallying it up to his crazy metabolism, he just decided it was probably for the best and tried not to think about it. And yet, that moment when he had been overwhelmed by the burning sensation of the smoke and liquor just wouldn’t come out of his mind. He had been so absorbed by the sudden pain, he had forgotten his frustration and his anger. Peter had been worse off, maybe, but still off in a  _ different _ way. And he found himself wanting to feel different again.

Not three nights later, Aaron and Aerie were back, sitting at the campfire and sharing a bottle of something in a paper bag.  _ Classy. _ Peter waltzed up and took his previous spot. “Hey guys.”

Aaron gave him a harsh look. “You keep your end of the bargain, bud?”

Reaching into his sweatshirt pocket, Peter drew out a ziploc of nugs and tossed it to Aaron. “Didn’t know how to roll it, but there’s your main ingredient, chef.” Aaron smiled and drew out his papers and grinder. “You came through, Pete. And here I thought you were a nerd. Thirsty?”

“Yeah..” Peter took a swig from the bottle, relishing the burn. “Hey, Aaron. That stuff made me feel pretty ok, but I don’t think I got the full effect. You got anything a little, I don’t know, stronger?”

“Woah there!” Aaron threw up his hands. “Don’t be so hasty, man. You barely got a puff in. Just give it another try, will ya?”

Aerie on the other hand looked concerned. “Hey, Pete. We just do this for fun and some easy laughs, but are you alright? You shouldn’t be looking to us and this—” she said, gesturing to the pile on Aarons lap, “for a solution to anything, you know?”

Peter looked at her with wide eyes.  _ Time to put up the defenses. _ “No, right! Yeah! I just have always had a bit of a tolerance for these things, I guess. Didn’t want to feel left out of cloud nine.”

Her eyes searched his, but fell away without much consideration. She shrugged. “Alright, well. You did buy. Let’s make sure he gets his share this time, eh, Aaron?”

“Yeah babe. Whatever.”

The weed and the booze felt great to Peter. And for that night, he was satisfied. He wasn’t sure what the other two were feeling, but their easy laughter and harmless demeanor was disarming to Peter, and he relaxed around them.

Next time they met up, Aaron pulled out a small bottle of pills. “Hey, Pete. I know you were curious about trying something new, and I got my hands on a couple of xannies. Well actually Aerie did— she’s got a pair of sticky fingers— anyways, you interested?”

Peter paused. He hadn’t actually considered this a possibility when he had brought it up at their last meeting. He knew what xanax had in it— mostly it was a depressant, for anxiety and insomnia and the like. Actually, now that he thought about it, that sounded like exactly what he needed. Mixed with the booze he had in his back pocket, and the half of an edible he’d snagged from one of the rooms he’d cleaned, Peter was willing to bet that even he could get really fucked up.

As a depressed 15 year old with no future, no family and nothing to lose, Peter wanted to get  _ really _ fucked up. Maybe then he’d catch up with the world around him.

“Yeah, I’ll take one.” Aaron tossed him the bottle, and Peter snuck two. Popping them both, he washed it down with the tequila he had disguised in his water bottle. He chuckled to himself;  _ wouldn’t Stark be proud? _

“Hey, Peter.” Aaron’s tone was uncharacteristically wary. “That’s water, right? I wouldn’t mix jack with these.” Peter gave him his winning grin and said confidently, “Yeah, yeah, man!” And then he put on a serious expression. It would make more sense. “I uh, never had one of these pills before. Didn’t want to risk it.”

Aaron nodded slowly and squinted his eyes a bit. “Right. Ok. Well give it a few minutes to kick in.” Peter did, and after about five he popped the edible. Washed it down with more booze. And then he was floating, the campfire and his friends very far away, and the night seemed to close around him like a zipper. The stars got really,  _ really…  _

“Peter, get the hell up! I’m not letting you crash here if you’re  _ only _ going to crash here. I expect you to be out front at open so I can run and get myself a coffee. Up! UP!” Peter groaned. Lady was poking him with a stick. It was so bright… _wait._

Bright?

Sitting up in one sudden motion (which he immediately regretted) Peter squinted at the swirling room. It was morning. Hadn’t he just been out at the campfire? Where were Aaron and Aerie?

“Oi! Ass outta bed, boy. I’m off to the cafe. I want to come back to a nicely dressed and jeez— showered— young man at the front desk. And change clothes, you reek like a drunk.” 

Peter couldn’t believe it. He had skipped the whole night. He had slept— he felt ridiculously well rested. The best part was, he didn’t remember anything. It was as if he’d travelled through time.

As he stepped into the shower and felt the water wash away the only evidence of his exploits, Peter realized something very important. He didn’t need to be in a coma to get through life.

He could do something better.

The first time Peter tried heroin, it was while he was already crossed. He was throwing up not long afterward— but it was ok. The only thing he had to lose was the cheap Canadian whiskey sloshing around in his gut.

The fifth time Peter did heroin was the first time he did drugs alone. It was the middle of the day, but he had hours of work left and nothing to do, he could just feel the world creeping in on his paradise, and needed something to stave it off.  _ Just a bit, just some to tide me over. Just— just—  _ and then it was three hours later. Lady walked in.

“Peter! What the hell— my god, kid!” Sitting him up, Lady slapped him hard across the face, pissed and trying to wake him up enough to kick him out properly. Peter came to and looked her in the eye. He saw no forgiveness there. “Kid, you’re out. Get these needles off the floor, and pack your bag. I want you gone in ten.” Then she stood and spit at his feet. “Bastard. Learn something from this, will you?” And then she was gone.

After Peter dragged himself out of the hostel, he collapsed in a dusty alleyway by the supermarket. When he woke, his bag was gone, and he was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t do drugs, kids.


	6. I thought you'd be proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony takes a trip.

The nice thing about being homeless as Spiderman was the pads. Peter could find a place to crash far out of the way of the usual tent cities, and he always had a great view. When no one else could reach Peter, he felt the same kind of privacy that he had in his old room. He felt at home, calm. As if everything that had happened since that Tuesday was a dream, and he was still lying facedown on the scorched pavement, blissfully ignorant.

Peter spent most of his time lying down. It was the best way to stare at the sky, and forget the hell he was held down in. When he was vertical, Peter was efficient. Food, booze and all of his precious tickets to paradise were easily attained. With his skill at avoiding the cops, and his literal sticky fingers, Peter made living on the streets look like an anarchist’s wet dream. His dignity may have gone out the window, but he was well fed enough, he had his own place(s), and no responsibilities whatsoever.

In his high life, Peter didn’t need pride. He had six other sins, and they were plenty satisfying.

The needle made its way into the crook of his arm, feeding the latest batch of stolen heaven into his blood. Peter sighed with relief, and gazed out the steeple window to the small town below. Lights flickered, and voices chatted in lighthearted tones.

It was so peaceful.  _ And so far… away. _

Peter laid his head back, against the cool stone. He felt time slip by as he travelled into the future.

* * *

It did not take Tony long to realize that Peter wasn’t coming back. It took even less time to figure out where he was. And finally, Tony was there, too.

“Australia, huh?” Tony shook his head. Peter had literally gone as far as possible from the tower without taking up with NASA and landing on the moon.  _ Still, I would have gone there, too. _

Mark-some-number hovered 20,000 feet above Queens, Australia. “Alright, FRIDAY. He’s somewhere in the area. Can you tell me where?”

_ Peter Parker is in the Freeman Lutheran Church, 59.4 miles from your location. _

“You got it, girl. Take me to church.” The suit shot off, and it was mere minutes before Tony arrived at the large wooden doors. It was dark out, and the church appeared to be unoccupied. “Well, I don’t see a call button. Should I just shout it out, FRIDAY?”

_ That would not be advisable, Boss—  _ “Peter! Pete! You here?! Oi! Peter!!”

No response.

_ Hm.  _ Then the door to the church swung open, and a man of some years stepped out. “Can I help you, mate?”  _ Ah, yes. Australia.  _ Tony responded in kind, doing his best not to snicker. “Yeah,  _ mate. _ I got an anklebiter running around here and got a tip off that he might be crashing here. You got any spare troubled youths lying around?”

The man smiled warmly, and pointed a wrinkled finger toward the sky.

_ “Oh, god, is he—” _ The man waved his hand. “No, no. The steeple. Check there. I’ve been seeing smoke coming out of it for the past several nights.” Tony silently hoped that Peter had picked up cooking over an open fire. He thanked the man, and took the suit to the top of the tower.

Tony smelled the smoke first- and the alcohol next. It was foggy in the dark attic, and he squinted, trying to find Peter despite the smoke in his eyes. He saw a flicker of movement; an arm draped over the back of the single piece of furniture, hand limp.  
  
“Peter?”  
  
He approached the couch, and saw exactly what he’d smelled.  
  
Peter was sprawled on the cushions, smoke in hand, bottles strewn across the floor beside him. He reeked of intoxication and looked like hell, with his insomniac eyes and twitchy movements.  
  
“Fuck… Pet—” The boy sprung with surprising agility, a knife clumsily aimed at Tony’s throat.  
  
“Who are yo- Tony?” He blinked. Confused, delirious. His eyes glazed over, coming in and out of focus as if he could barely make out the man not two feet in front of him. Tony felt himself cringe at what felt like failure; on his part. He couldn’t stop the kid from becoming— _me._  
  
The kid’s hand dropped and the knife fell to the floor. His gaze turned to ice. _Ouch._ Tony reached out a hand, palm raised in surrender. “Not happy to see me? Look, kid—”  
  
“Get out.”  
  
“Peter-“  
  
“GET OUT!” Peter took another deep draft of the stinking cigarette and flicked the butt at Tony’s feet. “I don’t need you. I don’t want you.” Spit followed the cigarette.  
  
Tony sighed, inwardly and outwardly. He could feel the butt leaving a mark on his polished shoe. “Peter, you clearly need _someone_. And I’m here.” The boy's face grew a sneer. His eyes were cold as they stared Tony down, but still hazy. His heart wasn’t completely in his words— he didn’t have the presence of mind to manage it. Still, his words came out like razor blades. “No, I DON’T. And no one needs me! Just leave like everyone else!” he shouted.  
  
Peter jumped, reaching for the ceiling and pulling himself up to hide from his mentor in the shadows above.  
  
“Oh no you don’t—”  
  
With a small pulse, Tony shot up after the boy, grabbing his shirt and throwing him down, cracking the floorboards. _Shit, this is getting violent._ A groan escaped from the dazed teen. Tony landed beside him, pulling him into a sitting position and slamming his back against the couch. Going clean was going to be rough for the kid, and Tony figured he might as well get used to it now.  
  
“You—” Tony jabbed at Peter with a finger, “Don’t get to do this. You don’t get to walk away. People like us don’t live like this: selfish, wasted, useless. We suffer. We stand. We fight. _We lose._ ” Tony paused for breath. It was hard to give advice he almost never lived up to. “You’re a part of that, kid. You signed on when you took that suit and you promised me- then- that you’d protect at all costs.”

Tony stood and wiped his hands, disgusted. He couldn’t look at his failure any longer. But he couldn’t leave. So he turned away.

“You don’t get to give up, Peter.” He whispered. “Yet here we are. And I am disappointed.”

Peter bristled from his position against the couch. “Disappointed?! Oh, wow, Stark— like I give a shit!” Peter pushed himself up, fueled by his frustration. “When have you ever cared about what I think? When have you ever been there for me? When have I called, and you been on the other end instead of Happy? Or a machine?!”

Tony whipped around, but stopped short of an outburst. What was he supposed to say to his- the kid? What kind of example was he, a man who drank and smoked when he was young, and now even, to deal with his problems; problems nothing compared to what Peter has gone through?

And then his chance was gone. Air escaped Peter’s chest, carrying words that lay heavy there. “Honestly, I thought you’d be proud.”

Tony’s last brain cells short circuited and quit without a severance.  _ Proud? _ “No.” Tony wasn’t having this. He wasn’t going to give up. “Peter— dammit.” He ran his hand through his hair for the millionth time. 

A man who had no experience trading self pity for the greater good, no experience leading another, let alone himself, through pain. No experience being a father, or even having one.

He knew these words had to be perfect, or he could lose Peter, forever.

Tony hardly had to think to say them. “I will always want you, Peter.” Reaching out slowly, he put his hands on Peter’s shoulders, holding the kid steady. “I can’t always be there, and I won’t always have the answer, because I’m not perfect either. But I will  _ always _ want you.” 

Tony leaned forward, wrapping his arms gingerly around the disheveled teen. “You’re the only family I’ve got, kid.”

Then he pushed back a little, so he could look Peter in his bloodshot, tear rimmed eyes. He thought about how it was a 15 year old kid trying to stand in front of him, with the weight of all the pain in the world on his shoulders. Tony knew then that Peter was his, because he needed to be. And no way in  _ hell  _ Tony was letting on of his own rot on the streets. “Kid, I can’t let you do this to yourself. We’re going home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When at first you don’t succeed, lay on the floor and cry for a while.


End file.
